Your eyes saw my unformed body; all my days were written in Your book and ordained for me before one of them came to be. Psl 139:16
You i knew
before my memory got so poor.
Old age cannot explain why I cannot see you.
but my thoughts are all jumbled:
A string of thoughts.
No rhyme or reason.
An idea half formed,
destroyed before it could be born.
Or was it killed,
A dream not born of a woman
or man -
We must always be
I know of you,
or so I would like to believe.
But do I know you
as you should have been?
In setting me a part by my appointment did it work?
If it is your Word that comes
why does it not enter,
why is it locked out,
strangled under the weight of not knowing.
Like a bolom maybe I had lost
How to get it back but to retrace my steps and hope I have my way
A silent cry is what I hear and turn to.
A cry that has no beginning
So loud that it cannot be drowned
Cannot be silenced by the impracticality of your practicality.
If I awaken from my slumber
will I like that piteous monster,
cry to dream again?
one wonders, if a simple awakening is enough.